


Clovermist

by Patorii



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patorii/pseuds/Patorii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was  the misty sprays of Lake Alexandr that gave Clovermist it's name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clovermist

**Author's Note:**

> First story published on this site! (: Let me know what you think.

It was the misty sprays of Lake Alexandr that gave Clovermist its name. The cottage was welcoming and cozy, a place where one would call their home away from home. It was enormous in size, with an equally enormous backyard that would stretch out to the edge of the cliffs that looked out upon Lake Alexandr. The lake stretched out beyond what the naked eye could see, and then thinned out into a channel that flowed into the Arugian Gulf. The gulf was an essential transportation system used by vessels from both Arugia and the neighbouring countries to transport resources from their docks. The Arugian side of the gulf docks were surrounded by beautiful forestry that stretched into the inlands, stopping by the periphery of the major cities. In the particular forests surrounding the Clovermist mansion was a sea of bright green clovers. The children of the area would often create exploration parties in order to go out hunting for four leaves. There was a legend circulating the small town that the last owner of Clovermist had founded a seven leaf clover in the outskirts when she was young. Ever since, parents had made it their chore to pass down the legend to their children and their grandchildren, all in the name of excitement. Some even poked fun at the limits a rumour could go; spreading the apparent fact that Clovermist was actually the home of the Leprechauns themselves. The rumours had eventually reached beyond the small village, making the area a popular tourist attraction.  
When Alessia would ask her father if the rumours about their summerhouse were true, he’d often give her his signature look that made Alessia feel extremely foolish. By her thirteenth summer, she’d been fully convinced there were no such things as Leprechauns. By her fourteenth summer, she’d done her research and discovered the probabilities of there being a seven leaf clover. By her fifteenth summer, she’d begun to grow irritated when the children of the neighbourhood would ask her where her family hid the Leprechauns. Alessia then began isolating herself from the rest of the neighbourhood children. She preferred to stow herself away in the Grandma’s old cabana in Clovermist’s backyard. It sat comfortably on sedimentary stone slabs, about a yard away from the edge of the cliff. Alessia kept her stash of green tea bags and shortbread in a small trunk, and throughout the course of the summer, she’d have gone through it all.  
The cabana was always messy with old books, quills, ink blots and paper. It was a hobby of Alessia’s to study ancient Arugian calligraphic hieroglyphs. She’d found some old journals and memoirs her ancestors had kept in the basement library of Clovermist, and had convinced herself that she was merely borrowing them, for personal reference and for the sake of keeping her country’s native writing alive. Of course, she never reminded herself that she’d had the books for almost 7 years now without even thinking about returning them to their rightful places.  
Night and day, Alessia would spend time skimming over the memoirs and chronicles, jotting down messy Arugian notes, or sometimes even copying down full sentences she relished to read out loud. Often, she’d lose track of time and stay in the cabana throughout the day, and partway into the night. Her father had scolded her numerous times for this, leaving Alessia no choice but to occasionally peak out her cabana window, looking for any signs of what she liked to call ‘parental intrusion’. She never did blame herself; studying Arugian hieroglyphs was draining, and Alessia was less than ready to sit through an hour long scolding about how she’d missed family dinner time again. Things had once gone extremely out of hand, as her father threatened to tear the old cabana down. Alessia had been young then, and had rid herself of the old thing for 3 whole days in fear of never being able to see it again. But now, she’d realized her father wouldn’t dare destroy something his own mother had put her time and effort into making. How foolish she was! How worthless her tears were! As time passed, her father eventually gave up intruding on his daughter’s ‘alone time’. That granted Alessia with complete and utter silence.  
But on this particular night, the silence rocked gently in the air. It was almost as precise as a picture hanging on the walls of a drafty abandoned church house on the slopes of Monte Rosa. It felt strange, eerie even. Alessia had trouble concentrating on the pictographic letters that night. That worried her somehow, considering the fact that it was not very late at all. Her wristwatch pointed at the Roman numeral ‘X’. Ten o’clock. Not late at all. At least not for a girl of her age. Shame on you, Lessy! She thought. You really allowed the last chronicle to shiver the coxswain of your sanity? If the other kids find out, their teasing will be the Bain of your existence!   
But scolding herself didn’t rid the forming knot in the pit of her chest. With a sigh, she slapped the final memoir shut, placing it in the messy pile of textbooks and scrap paper. For a moment, everything went still. She felt frozen in place as the wind rushed through her ears then down her spine, sucking goose bumps out of her flesh. It had been for the first time in her life that Alessia had felt fear in her isolated cabana.   
“I must rest,” Alessia concluded out loud. But it wasn’t long before she had risen to her feet that she had heard the shouting and screaming, coming directly from none other than the Clovermist mansion. Surprisingly, Alessia didn’t feel frightened.  
Her legs began moving on their own, as Alessia dashed swiftly towards the back cellar door hidden in the side gardens of the courtyard. The old door rattled numerous times before swinging open. Alessia winced at the loud creak of the door hinge, along with the disgusting waft of rum and old cheese. Within moments, Alessia was enveloped with the darkness of the house as she ventured farther and farther up the worn out wooden stairs. She silently cursed the obscurity of the house before feeling ashamed. Father would go purple if he’d heard!  
By the time she’d reached the kitchens, Alessia’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The shouts were becoming more and more audible, irritating her curiosity and worry. It hadn’t occurred to her yet as to what she’d do once she had reached the terrifying noises. She was merely a young girl of fifteen years with no prior fighting experience. The best she could do was bite or scratch.   
But what of her younger brothers? Someone would have to take care of them if something had happened to her parents! She’d be left with the job of making sure they fed properly, kept up with their studies, and were isolated from those gangs, or whatever they were called. Father referred to them as the ‘bad groups’, the abnormals. Alessia disagreed with that term, however. She’d read in one of the memoirs that one should not judge someone by how ‘normal’ they could be, for everyone has a different reality, therefore a different normal. By the Gods, she’d have to make sure her brothers would understand that as well!  
“This is nonsense I’m thinking. Mother and Father will be fine...” she snapped. Alessia had finally made her way to the main hall, but froze upon seeing four dark figures standing at the top of the stairs. One was on the ground screaming and crying. She recognized her voice as her mothers, her eyes holding fear and helplessness. The other three figures were entangled with one another, two of them grabbing and scratching at the other. The victim struggled against the two, who were obviously strong. Alessia felt paralyzed, her eyes switching between the fight and her mother’s face. Mother’s eyes grew wide once she noticed Alessia, and she began swatting her hands in her daughter’s direction, as if telling her to leave, run, get help, anything but stand there staring like a deer caught in headlights. Alessia gasped before clasping her mouth shut with her hands. Quickly, she dashed under the staircase and stood beside the door to the hallway that led back to the kitchen where she’d come from.  
“Do not struggle,” a voice said, calmly. It sounded far too calm, Alessia thought. With the two figures fighting, there was no way one of them could speak so soft or darkly. The swine! There are more of them?!  
Alessia heard her father curse at the stranger with the vilest; most spiteful swears she’d ever heard in her life. Alessia felt her face flush upon hearing such words, especially coming from her father. Often, when she or her brothers were around, Father would use Latin plant names in place of malicious swears. When asked why, he explained that she needn’t know rude swear words. Of course, Alessia being a school student had discovered many swear words she vowed never to speak aloud in the presence of her parents.  
Her father and the man began a verbal assault to one another, arguing and spitting, along with an occasional slapping sound being heard, and her mother’s silent whimpers. They spoke quickly and loudly in Arugian, a conversation Alessia could not understand. It had something to do with ‘the books’, which Alessia assumed was what this man wanted. Finally, she heard her father choke before the man spoke once again in a hissed tone.  
“If you won’t cooperate, I shall find them myself.”  
There was a split second of silence before her mother released a bloodcurdling scream, and Father’s body fell from the top floor, smacking down hard on the marble ground of the Clovermist mansion. Alessia pressed her mouth shut to muffle her scream, her nails digging into the flesh of her cheeks. Her eyes searched for her father’s, finally finding them in the darkness of the mansion. They were wide open, but slightly rolled back. His facial complexion was fading quickly to a pale blue colour. His lips were slightly parted, his tongue barely peaking out. From his neck oozed a puddle of blood that bubbled and spread out around his body.   
“We don’t have the memoirs here anymore!” Her mother screamed, breaking Alessia out of her paralysis. She had screamed that unnecessarily loudly. The memoirs? Could she be telling her something?  
By the Gods! They were after the memoirs!  
Alessia waited no longer. She spun around and dashed down the hallway, through the kitchen, down the cellar and out towards the cabana in a fury. She knew she had to work quickly in order to escape with the prize.  
Swiftly, she gathered her papers with scribbles and notes, and stuck them into the thickest journals. Then, Alessia stacked them all up on one another, and then placed them down on the large tablecloth, wrapping the stack up and tying a knot up top. She then threw on her cloak and grabbed the bag of memoirs she had made just seconds ago. She bid a silent farewell to her cabana and disappeared behind a jamboree of trees in the forest just beside the cliffs. Not long after, Alessia heard the voices of the men inside her cabana.  
“Curses! I could have sworn there were one more of them!”  
“Do not fret, sir. Even if there was, she could not be a threat to us. A mere fifteen year old could do nothing with those memoirs.”  
“Perhaps... Now, let us go. We could make millions off of those journals that stupid old hag left behind to rot.”  
“Can we, sir? Is the ancient Arugian culture so sacred to the world?”  
“There is not a single trace left aside from those chronicles... Sacred could barely sum it all up.”  
“And the final child of the governor? What shall we do of her, sir?”  
“Allow her to escape and rot her life away. A mere fifteen year old, far away from the capital who hasn’t worked a single day in her life will eventually starve herself to death. We, in the meantime, shall be richer than fudge cake!”  
Alessia giggled in the darkness of the forest.


End file.
